


Chanel Mademoiselle

by 1a_honorable_mademoiselle



Category: Carol (2015), The Price of Salt - Patricia Highsmith
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Slow Burn, still can't use these
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 04:39:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6501166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1a_honorable_mademoiselle/pseuds/1a_honorable_mademoiselle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>OK, AU. Ooo crazy. Carol is a fashion designer, working with colleagues Abby, and brothers Phil and Danny for the fashion house CHANEL. Things are going great until Therese gets spotted as a model...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Spotted

**Author's Note:**

> So I thought this might be something a little bit different, and I wanted to bring my two favourite things together and since no one else (to my knowledge) has done it, thought I might give it a go. Also, to make things more interesting I have controversially swapped some of the character roles around, risky I know. Don't know where on earth this story is going but... :)

 

 

 _Shit._ Therese flung the covers off of her bed and then made a run for the bathroom. Whilst frantically brushing her teeth she checked her wristwatch. 8:42. She had to be at Frankenburgs by nine and the subway was a guaranteed minimum of 10 minutes. This wasn't the first time that Therese had overslept this week either. She had also already received a written warning for her 'unprofessional punctuality' from that bitch boss of hers. Whats more she really needed this job. _Really._ She glanced out of the window of her Bronx apartment and was greeted by the warm, spring sunshine. Who needed curtains anyway? She preferred to call her interior style minimalism, instead of I can't afford anything. It had always been her dream to move to the city, but the increased standards of living was taking a toll on her bank account, she was already a month behind on rent. After pulling on black skinny jeans, black boots and a white ribbed top, she grabbed her trench coat and bag and headed out the door. It was a no-makeup and unruly hair day, but who cares? It's not like she'd see anyone of any importance today. 

 

She jogged along the sidewalk, expressing a sympathetic 'sorry!' to every passer by that she hit with her bag before swinging around the railing and running down the steps of the Caroll St. station.  _FUCK._ Therese watched the train pull away from platform one whilst still in the barrier queue. Commuters flooded to platform two, -their train hadn't come yet they were all organised, she  unconsciously scowled at them before marching over to the deserted side. She meandered to the end of the track, hoping to get a seat on the next train. Knowing her luck she wouldn't and would have to stand squished up against somebody else with an armpit in her face, it was almost a certainty. Sighing, she perched on the end of a bench and carelessly flung her bag down beside her. It was a Chanel Tote. Black, shiny and quilted with a heavy black and gold chain. Classic, elegant. It was Therese's pride and joy, something that her mother had given her for her 18th. If she wanted to be a hotshot lawyer, she needed to at least look the part. 

'You need to make your own way.'  _God._ She count count the number of times her mother had told her that, at the marble table in their suave manhattan penthouse while the maid brought in the breakfast with a jealous and dissatisfied sneer. She knew her mother was right, but it was just so hard. Let's face it, she was pretty close, as in she had survived 2 years of American Law at NYU, had a part time job to subsidise her accommodation, and a meagre living allowance from her grandparents. But it would be so easy to just drop everything and go away. Travel to Europe, or do charity work in Africa like most of her rich friends did. 

Pulling out her phone, she angrily scrolled through notifications. A twitter request.  _No._ Her Aunt wishing her a Happy Birthday for yesterday. An email or two offering some crappy offer that she had no time or effort for. A message from Richard.  _Goddamn it, why can't he understand that we've broken up already._ It pathetically read, 'hey baby, I miss you. Call me, please?' With a huff she ignored it and stuffed the phone back into her bag. 

Next train was still three minutes away.

Resting. Her elbows on her knees, her face on her palms, she stared dejectedly at the track. A jolt of emptiness stung her and she shivered. She felt so alone. 

* * *

 

Danny stared down at his camera,  concentrating. His tongue poked out of his mouth as manipulated the lens. 'There, that ought to do it,' he said with content and only to himself of course. Besides, there was only one other girl ahead of him on the platform anyway. He bent slightly, angling his camera in a parallel to the track. He wanted a test shot to make sure his camera was saved, this way no-one would need to know he had almost killed it after dropping it of the bathroom ledge in the hotel this morning. The girl was facing him now, still about fifty metres away and looking straight down the platform, through him almost. She sat, one arm swinging in between her legs, one arm propping her head up. That should be perfect. It was a perfect scene after all. He snapped a couple of shots and the image sang off the screen.  _Oo, arty._ He smiled to himself as the next train approached, next stop JFK. And then home. Home to Paris, to Louise and their new baby. He had taken some great shots in New York and was profoundly positive for once in his life that his boss, PR manager, Miss Abigail Gerhard, wouldn't kill him. She couldn't. 


	2. à Paris !

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Briefly setting the scene à Paris ! We're at 31 Rue De Cambon...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank-you my darlings for all the support on my first chapter. A crazy plot from my tiny, disorganised mind, I had no idea I would get this much encouragement, you've literally all made my week! Sorry this update has been such a long time in coming, I've been dreaming away I guess... thank-you also in one person in particular, I probably wouldn't have been motivated enough to continue this without your... harassment?;)

' _Excusez-moi '_  Danny murmured as he beat on, ceaselessly borne back against the incessant current of commuters flooding onto the street from the nearest metro exit. It was 8:57, he had three minutes. Picking up the pace, Danny obliviously collided with an elderly, unassuming but now angry french woman. ' _Je suis très désolé!_ ' He shouted behind him, gripping tighter onto the shoulder of his battered shoulder bag.  _Thank God, it was in sight._ The flurry of Parisians cleared and the large bay windows and proud grandure of it all was now exposed to his ambitious, young eyes. 

**31 Rue Cambon. Chanel.**

The striking black forms leapt out from their white background, boasting their class and elegance to the society that so readily and proudly cultivated them. 

 _I've made it._ He had worked as a junior photographer for Chanel for five years. Half a decade and he had never even been inside the couture house before. Abby usually kept her team out of sight and out of mind in some back offices allocated to them. She rarely visited herself, just sent her P.A. It was _17th Arrondissement_ for Christ sake, she couldn't possibly be seen there. Rolling his eyes and grinning stupidly Danny rushed up the steps before inhaling deeply and smoothing over his shirt and suit trousers. He'd won a fight with Louise that morning about his attire, normally opting for a bomber jacket and jeans, his wife had insisted upon a designer suit to greet the creative director, of Chanel. _(Yes, that was still actually happening)._  She was like his supreme boss and idol a thousand times distanced. Like a bright, burning star he could always observe through his amateur telescope, but never ever correlate with. Until today. After, bashfully smiling at the memory of his argument and good luck kiss earlier, he looked down at the aforementioned outfit, smirked and went inside. 

* * *

'Jesus Abby, you simply have to stop doing this.'

'No. I don't; I think you'll find that we have a _whole_ 5 minutes, which is  _plenty_ of time...' She sensuously whispered into her girlfriend's ear. Of course no-one knew this was her lover, but no-one had to. It was all part of the fun. Pinning her against the wall, she seized the blouse off of the woman's shoulder, hungrily planting lustful kisses and nibbles around her collar bone and top of her breasts, indefinite promises that they would resume their somewhat... informal meeting at a later date.

'Don't you dare rip that, or leave marks. We're so screwed.' 

Abby momentarily silenced her with fiery kisses to her lips before they fashioned together and both the kiss and instinctive want in them ardently increased in depth. The recipient let out a long and convulsive moan. To hell with it if anyone heard. Abby devilishly tiptoed her fingers under the silk blouse and traced her fore finger down the valley between the woman's breasts, tantalising slowly when descending across her abdomen before she dipped into her trousers, skilfully beneath her lingerie. A momentary contact in the heat and suspense of the moment nearly sent her lover over the edge, she restrained and opted for a pleading sigh instead. 

'Nope, time's up I'm afraid.' Abby smirked, playfully tapping the woman on the nose as she spun around, made an abrupt exit and waltzed off to the bathroom.

* * *

He was perched on a soft, beige chair that he didn't feel worthy enough to sit on. It faced Coco's centrepiece, a marble staircase. Hands woven, stomach knotted. He looked around the hall. It was possible to hear the chaos of the Parisian street outside,  _perhaps the first time I've relished in it's comfort he mused._

'I'm sure Miss Gerhard will be here to join you in a moment.' The _vendeuse_ smiled warmly, an empathetic tone in her voice before gracefully passing across the marble floor back through a big oaken door. There was black, everywhere. And white. Beige too. The opposites engaged in a warm and timeless harmony,  _le noir_ always framing; weighting things, even light, with an air of dignity and prowess. Whilst  _le blanche_ danced over and through, highlighting, brightening, an ascension into a joyous celebration of equality and _classique. Enfin,_ _le beige._ A warm humility. A soft neutrality. Reminding us that we all have our place in this fluid composition. 

'Danny. Have you been waiting long? How was New York? Abby Gerhard bluntly interrupted his daydream.  _It would be so great to take photos right here._

 _'_ Hmm? Oh right, morning Miss Gerhard. No not at all. It was good, actually. I uhh..sincerely hope that you'll be satisfied with some of my shots, the locations I found will make a great backdrop for some of our campaigns, also...'

'I have every confidence in you. She guided him up the stairs and round to the left. They now faced a crisp, white corridor. It would have been almost clinical in it's meticulous appearance if it wasn't for the large frames hanging alternatively between each door. Danny stared back at each one as they walked briskly past. A side profile of their young founder, one of her with Karl Lagerfeld, a few others, after momentous moments in the company's history; dispersed by baroque artwork, a clear inspiration for the looks they produced. 

It's true, Abby was as dismissive and forthright with him as usual but today she was different. There was a look of laughter in her eyes that he hadn't noticed when he rarely saw her... fulfilment and contentment one could say. After slowing, her air of efficient professionalism subsided, her sleek brown hair sliding back over the sharp angles of her dark blazer jacket, Chanel of course. Reserved for important meetings. She opened the door to the studio room and they were greeted by enthusiastic faces, it was hot outside. Danny's eyes travelled around the room. The outer wall had largely been replaced with glass, revealing a stunning view of the city he adored behind it. The sunlight burnished the roofs and corners of each building, reviving their mundanity with a fleeting highlight or two.  _It's torture to have a meeting in here._ He thought solemnly, taking the spare middle seat on the left hand side, reserved by his name. Abby walked around the rectangle and assumed her place next to the right hand of the director's chair, currently empty. 

The conference room had a table running down the centre, the rows of chairs on either side at a teasing parallel against the window, reminding the employees that while the sun was shining outside, they had to work tirelessly indoors. The Spring-Summer collection was well underway, it was due to be released in a couple of weeks, but already new talk and new imagination had been plastered onto the Winter-Fall release. 

Danny demurely looked around the table, the others were occupied in quiet chit-chat, heavy with the anticipation of what their boss had to offer on each of their ideas. He stole glances at name plaques,  _ok, so there's a PR manager here, junior and senior head seamstresses, accountant, fashion consultant, atelier manager, Abby for photography, and me. Her what? Assistant?..._

And with that everyone stood up, as a perhaps disarranged looking (for her hair was tousled, her scarf was bundled around her neck and her cream silk blouse was not as pristine as it might have been a few moments earlier), Ms Carol Aird, practising creative director of the couture house Chanel sauntered into the room. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think! 
> 
> A rather short chapter just to let you know I'm still alive, I have the next one planned so maybe you can count on it being sooner, lol.


	3. The Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get closer to the inevitable meet. Carol forms an unexpected friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, after a month I've returned. Your loveliness motivates me, I look at the other writers on here with awe everyday.   
> And yes, on the eve of my first serious exam this year, I decide to write. Good one, M !

'Excuse me?,'

 

Carol placed a perfectly manicured hand on top of her leather-bound director's notes and skirted round the table towards the young photographer, hastily packing his disorganised array of prints away.

 

'Mr McElroy wasn't it?'

Her head tilted and eyes bemused as she urged the young man to talk.

 

Danny was hesitant. Why had she waited until everyone had filed out of the board room to approach him. Had he done something wrong? Perhaps she didn't like the direction he wanted to take with the shoots coming up this season? Had he been too persistent and deluded by his own ambition? He was, after all only the  _assistant photographer_ on the board.

 

**Shit.**

 

 

'Hi. That's right, Ms Aird. Sorry I'm taking such a long time to pack everything away. I didn't intend to show you guys this many, I guess I just got carried away...'

 

She was standing next to him now. As an equal. His fear dissipated from him, he could sense the taller woman, eyes downcast, with curiosity and intrigue over his work.  _His._

 

'I wanted to thank you for the opportunity. It was so great to shoot in New York, I know these are only preliminary, ground work, if you like. I can do much better Ms. Aird, truly. Not that you'll need me to take the pictures for the real thing...' He trailed off again, everything that left his mouth, cracking the already fragile façade of this situation. Like the graffitied Brooklyn walls, she was currently admiring.

 

She simply shrugged. Lifted her eyes, looked pensively and grinned. 

 

'Actually that's what I wanted to talk to you about. You have true talent, Danny. The compositions and forms here, are so brilliantly captured...'

 

She traced her hand down in rivulets, against the remaining prints splayed out on the table. 

 

'I happen to know that Ms. Gerhard is under a lot of stress recently. With all that you've done for this fashion house, your work here...even though I'm ashamed to say that I've never met you in person before... your work hasn't gone unnoticed. I'm sorry I feel like such a terrible boss!' 

 

 

He noticed that flash of insecurity, of vulnerability. Something he had never thought possible.

 

 

She chewed her lip dejectedly.

'Anyway. I want to delegate a greater responsibility to you this season. You've shadowed Abby for long enough, I would like you to be in charge of the shots and decide on locations, perhaps we can give her some time off. She could remain here in Paris and keep the editing and campaigns running smoothly. I would love it if you would, but please don't feel obliged to take it. I know you have a young child and I busy life, maybe a bigger responsibility is not what you're looking for but I had to ask. I don't suppose you would, would you?' 

 

After this hesitant soliloquy, Carol sank down into the level swivel chair behind her. Knuckles white as she clung to the arms of it, waiting. 

 

Danny followed suit and sat adjacent, turning to face her, hands contorting in his lap. It was the first time he had seen her, seen her properly that is. Maybe she wasn't the Carol Aird everyone perceived. She wasn't blasé or self-assured. Not merciless as the vine-like rumours that entangled her image whispered, nor confident, even. She was flawed. And that made her human to him. Yet through all this she still managed to seem transcendent, more pure without even trying. 

 

Her eyes flickered restlessly, it must have been nearly half a minute since her offer had been laid out. 

 

Shaking from his _reverie_ he formed a response. All his dreams and ambitions were finally being realised. Everything he had worked for was in his grasp. But in this woman's presence he felt more calm than ever. 

 

'Mrs Aird I..'

 

'Call me Carol, please.' She interjected, her gentle voice leaded with desperation.

 

'Carol. I would love to accept. You can't even imagine how much this means to me, it's something I'm struggling to comprehend and I'm so flattered by your conviction and belief in me.'

 

 

_Cut the crap, McElroy._

 

 

 

'I do, however, have a few reservations. Are you sure you know what you're doing? Because I don't. This is literally everything I've worked for but are you positive with the direction I'm taking this. More contemporary, less elitist. I need to be honest and clear with you here. I want to show your designs off in a contemporary way. ' _Haute Couture à la rue.'_ If you will. Fashion needs to be accessible, and realised in the conforms of a whole society, not just those who have taken it for granted. I know it's maybe unorthodox, I haven't grown up with it like you have but I feel as though it will enhance our image. Chanel will juxtapose the reputation we have built... elegance, style and glamour with the modesty, vibrancy and wackiness that we see on the streets, a cacophony of the nuanced in-betweens. It will also reinstate old values. Gabrielle's fight for practicality, with a twist of luxury...I don't know how to approach it exactly, or if it's even plausible.'

 

She could see everything back. The excitement in his face, the furious movement of his hands, the vigour with in which he spoke. This was his dream. She would make it known.

 

'Hmm' Carol swivelled delicately on her chair. 'I can see your perspective, whats more, I really like it. I think it will do the company good, do y'know I think it will do me some good.' 

 

Now she smiled, those steely eyes sparkled, almost as if to challenge him. 

 

 

'I do have some conditions. Firstly, I need a portfolio, of exactly the kind of things you have in mind. The photos from New York looked brilliant, if you want to shoot some in Paris then by all means do so. I want to see this by the end of the month, collections... themes...ideas...set-ups. I know it's a big ask but persevere. Use what feels right, throw the rest away...I also want you to keep this under wraps, for now. Don't involve anybody from work, don't talk to anybody. This is our secret for now.'

 

Danny was intrigued, momentarily by the imagination of a child he could see, layered and enshrined in fine fabrics and pearls in a sophisticated pretence, but further by  the clandestine inflation of his plan. 

 

He smiled. With his mouth and his eyes. Ascending to go, he held out his hand for his superior to finalise everything and check goodbye. To confirm that he wasn't really dreaming. 

 

She used it to glide up and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Somewhat stunned, he nodded.

 

'That is the Parisian way, Mr McElroy. Don't tell me you still haven't got used to it!' She offered as a parting joke.

 

She turned to go, a mischievous bounce in her step.

 

'Au Revoir.' Her voice floating like a bittersweet melody through the air, diminuendoed with the click of the door. 

 

And with that she was gone. Danny just shook his head in disbelief. 

* * *

 

 

**18.05.16**

**M. Aird,**

**I know you send the end of the month but I just couldn't wait.**

**Three possible developments since the last time we spoke.**

**1) We employ homeless people to make aspects of the range, giving them a fair** **wage and contributing a % of the sales to their charity.**

**2) We used SOME natural/ recyclable materials**

**3) We just select total unassuming models off of the streets.**

**We'll do it with _CHANEL_ fluidity and grace, as always. Not to mention take a more humanitarian stance as 'the approachable designer.' **

**Let me know what you think, reach me through Abby's office or here if you prefer:**

**+(33)5-4197-389**

**Best Wishes,**

**-D**

****

* * *

 

The note was scrawled with a irritant, feverish hand. (Wrapped in two envelopes and hidden within the passage containing the portfolio for the upmost secrecy, of course). 

 

Carol sighed, ran her fingers through her hair and smiled. To nowhere or nothing in particular, she was just happy. 

 

Excitement broiled inside of her as she set down her espresso and clicked the digits into her personal phone. 

 

Satisfied with the dial tone, she pushed the portfolio and note into the top drawer of her bureau, protected by lock and key and reclined into the immodest, beige executive chair, which faced towards the window, looking out over _Rue Cambon._

 

'Danny, here. Who's calling?' 

 

'Your partner in crime I believe.' Carol whispered huskily down the phone before subsiding into laughter. 

 

'Oh, hi! You got the portfolio, what did you think? Everything ok?' 

 

'Yes perfect. I can't wait to discuss your ideas in length and somewhere away from here, but we have more pressing issues to deal with right now.' 

 

'What?' He faltered, afraid. 

 

'This is too good. We can't waste time. Book the next two available flights to JFK.'

 

'Two? I thought this was a secret?' 

 

 

 

'Oh, it is!' She affirmed into the phone. 'I'm coming with you.' 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, apologies for all the french connections;) I am half-french so I apologise if this gets tedious but I enjoy celebrating my weird fusion of culture on here! Sorry/not sorry;)
> 
> Obviously 'Au Revoir' means good-bye. But the literal translation is 'until we see each other again' which is so, so cute. I wanted to work that into my story for the minority that don't know but I couldn't so have it a little treat;)
> 
> Thank-you for continued support. <3


	4. La Picole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Carol finally makes it to NY. Just go with my plot because I don't plan. Not long until she meets Therese but I'm looking for a really edgy and clever bar name which is why this chapter stopped here, - can anyone help? ;)

* * *

 

**6pm**  

* * *

 

Carol kicked off her Louboutins and set her bags on the floor. Flinging the keys onto the table she surveyed her surroundings and exuded a sigh of relief. She couldn't have been in the penthouse for three years, but it still looked the same. A fresh, minimalist comfort that could only fit with New York, despite the chaotic world beyond those magnificent glass walls. She walked over to the sleek, cream sofa and delicately collapsed, turning to face Danny. He could tell that she was oblivious to the view in the background; these were the luxuries that she took for granted. Perhaps it was because she was a luxury. This woman seemed like perfection - she had a right to fit in with the New York skyline, a cacophony of brash colours that seemed to fit like an intriguing jigsaw, - each piece was so different and alive that one never tired of looking at it. No, she didn't just fit in with this background. Carol made it. 

 

Danny now saw the genuine concern in her eyes when he slowly realised that he had failed to answer her. 'Danny...Is everything ok?' 

 

'Yes Mrs Aird...Sorry I...this apartment is truly beautiful.' There was no point in even trying to hide his awe. 

 

After stretching lethargically she got up and sauntered over to him: 

'Well thank-you, I ought to refurbish it but I hardly ever come here anymore... ' Her voiced trailed away and Danny followed her eyes as they suddenly seemed very interested in the floor. 'Well anyway' she suddenly looked back up at him with a perfect smile, the moment of insecurity was so fleeting; Danny became uncertain that he hadn't imagined it in the first place. 'The flight was so tiring, I have done it so many times yet I'm still not used to it. I'll leave you to get some rest. Your room is the first on the left, please make yourself at home. Use the phone to call your wife, whatever.'

 

'Thank-you Mrs Aird' 

'Don't mention it.' Her voice already dispersing in the air around him like the finest drops of perfume. 

 

 

* * *

 

**8.30pm**

* * *

 

 

Carol's eyelids finally betrayed her as she slowly became more conscious. With a groan she twisted and stretched across the silken sheets to check her phone. 8.30pm, she had only managed to drift off for two hours at the most. Great. With a sigh she swung out of the king size bed, phone in hand and walked to the wardrobe. 

It was too much effort to change again so Carol haphazardly slipped on her favourite tartan robe and walked to the kitchen to make some coffee. Drumming her fingers on the counter whilst waiting for the water to boil she noticed a note: 

 

_Mrs Aird, -_

_Some of my photography school friends found out I was in town and I've gone to grab some drinks with them. I would have told you but I didn't want to wake you. If you need me give me a ring._

_D_

 

After looking quizzically at the coffee pot, she guiltily turned her attention to the cigarette box and decanter of whiskey with its crystal glass near the balcony in the front room. She pulled the robe a little tighter and stepped outside.

 The wind rushed past her, it was relentless and cold up here but it woke her up more than the coffee ever could have.

Maybe this is what she needed, to be alone. If Carol was being completely honest with herself she didn’t fly halfway across the world exclusively for work purposes; nor did she jump at the chance because she wanted to accompany Danny. Hell, she had had enough of men, - a car crash of a marriage was enough for one lifetime. Without Harge she never would have been gifted with Rindy though. Despite all her achievements, - Carol knew other women would literally kill for her reputation; - her daughter was the incomparable and most important being in her life. At 16, Rindy looked exactly like her mother, well a more youthful version, but from the prints of her younger self and her daughter hanging around her office, clients found them indistinguishable. Like her name, Nerinda was a water lily, pale, marvelous and glowing. She was currently studying at politics at Oxford, she was naturally adept at languages (thanks to her parents differing nationalities), and had also picked up Swedish from the au pair that brought her up. Carol sighed, she felt as though the stress was evaporating from her body. At times she wished she could have been a better mother. If she wasn’t so caught up in her merciless ambitions she may have been able to save her marriage for the sake of her child, instead of getting distracted…

* * *

 

**9.45 pm**

* * *

 

 

Carol supported her head by resting her elbows on her knees. She rubbed her temple, the mindless circles becoming so hard that they almost hurt.

 

_Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._

She regretted nothing and everything. Abby had been the best comfort in those dark places; she couldn’t fault what she’d done. Silently helping her through the divorce after Harge found out about everything, helped her with Rindy and even leaving her dream job at _Le Monde_ to be with Carol and check up on her at work. It was difficult to comprehend, but Carol felt trapped. She owed Abby so much, sex was the least she could do for someone who was clearly infatuated with her, someone she would be ever indebted to. Besides, she had enjoyed what they shared in the beginning hadn’t she? She couldn’t hurt Abby, Abby kept her sane. All Carol seemed to do was destroy everything she touched. But would she rather be in her natural state, - an inferno, even if she decimated everything she wanted? It must be better than whatever this was. Now she felt trapped, like a bird in a cage that couldn’t get out. She was an exhibit to all of the curious eyes that peered in but their sole purpose was one of superficial prejudice, looking at appearance only, deaf to her panicked screams.

 

Angrily running her hands through blonde hair that was now arranged in tangled disarray, Carol downed the last of her drink, stubbed the cigarette and stormed inside.

 

She redressed her makeup with lightening speed, - just a touch of blush and red lipstick were necessary before selecting a white blouse – casual looking but of the highest quality, beige trousers and nude court shoes, simply because they were at the top of the suitcase she opened. Yes, Carol was a formidable fashion designer and resident of one of the most prestigious fashion houses, but if she was confident that no one would recognize her she couldn’t care less about her clothes. Right now all she could think about was another drink. It was no fun drinking alone and feeling down, even when you had a constant supply of nicotine and numbing jazz music in the background.

* * *

 

 

**10:11pm**

 

* * *

 

Before Carol knew it she was prowling the sidewalks, oblivious to any unassuming tourist or commuter in her way. Her eyes scanned Madison Avenue for a less than glamorous luminescent bar sign, any establishment that promised a good whisky and the company of attractive people, - she was past caring now.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so it's been the best part of a year. Honestly, if there are people that still remember this fic then hello and welcome back, if you don't fear not, I have a tendency to write when stressed and as procrastination so as I have exams coming up we'll be seeing a lot more of each other. Carol and Therese will meet, I promise. Love to all the brilliant people on here. 
> 
> M xo


	5. Caught in the Rye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol hits the town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's that.

 

> **10.45 RYE NO. 1 **
> 
>  

After turning down a side alley, Carol sauntered through the swinging doors of the first bar that didn't look like a pick-me-up. After walking she was weary, bitter and cold. Slouching on the corner bar stool, she cautiously flicked her hand: 

 

'I'll have a rye please, straight.' 

'Sure, lady.' 

 

The barman looked around, only his usuals were slumped across the out-dated bar possessively trading their drinks, curiously eying-up this new customer, perhaps envious, but willing to ostracise her all the same. 

Carol was past caring, she was alone and honestly had never felt more at ease amidst the tempestuous storm in her mind. 

Enveloped from the haze of the alcohol and shrouded by the mist of threatening tears, she couldn't care less if people were looking at her. After all, she had been stared at, objectified, almost every day of her life. From being the pride of the family to the trophy wife and the perfect career mother, and incessant and well practised demeanour of perfection. It was as though Carol was a porcelain doll, trapped behind a glass with everyone gawking at her. There was respect, there was awe, hell, there was even jealousy from most spectators, but their worshipping eyes were bearing a weight on Carol and cracks were beginning to emerge on that powder white surface, and even if the viewers hadn't seen them yet, she knew they were there. 

When the stares didn't falter or drop, she became agitated. Why should people look? Why should people expect?

She hastily put out a note, downed the amber liquid and stormed back out into the cold night air. 

_The rye was cheap anyway._

 

* * *

> **12.04** **RYE NO. 2**
> 
>  

Therese hesitantly turned, pretending to fill in the order sheet whilst trying to suppress a yawn. She took her time in rotating back, buoyed by the charming instrumental of Billy Holiday's easy living in the background, - at weekends the bar always had a live jazz band and she had almost volunteered to take on this extra shift just for it. 

 

The polished mahogany surfaces, the decadent chandeliers, the plush leather seats, - Therese could hardly believe she'd landed a job in a place like this. Granted, she was covering for her friend Phil, but a foot in the door and she would be out of Frankenberg's in no time with any luck. Of course she was used to the high society, her parents had been insistent on showing her off in their fierce, standoffish social circles, didn't mean that she wanted to encourage, or act in any part of it though. To Therese, it seemed selfish. How could people waltz in here, laughing their cares away after stepping over the homeless on the street to get here? How could they pick up bills of hundreds of dollars a time when there were thousands living on the poverty line? 

 

Shaking away her thoughts, they would have to wait until her law paper, she shuddered at the memory of it and its fast approaching deadline, - would there ever be time to sleep? With classes and dashing between here and the department store two jobs to sustain her bills,  she didn't know how much longer she could cope. Sighing, she caught on to the man giving her a demanding nod and replenished his crystal glass.

* * *

> **01.37** **RYE NO. 3 (sort of)**
> 
>  

After walking in full circle and getting nowhere, Carol was now leaning her head dejectedly on the side of the train window. She must have been on for at least half an hour, staring out into the obsolete, wishing and hoping she could be devoured up too. She pulled the trench coat a little tighter and absentmindedly ran her fingers through her hair, each golden curl separating and framing her face in a totally different, but eternally beautiful way. Slumped into the first chair she found, Carol had her back to a group of young men making their way home from a party. Still rowdy and hiding liquor bottles in brown paper the obnoxious men cheered and were now playing drinking games, swinging fro the poles and support bars. Contrary to the grumbling from a few other night travellers Carol didn't mind, - it was refreshing to see people having fun and being happy for once, - it made a change from her motley and oprressive surroundings anyway. 

 

As the train eased into the next station Carol got up to get off, she had no idea when or what the time was but she knew that trains would become fewer and she'd need to get home at some point. Besides, she could do with a breath of fresh air anyway. Clinging to the pole for support Carol collected her things and advanced towards the door. 

 

 

Before she knew what had happened she was on the floor. 

 

 

 

The boys had tried to push past her and the biggest, celebrating his unrivalled victory in the last round of shots had turned round, wavered, then toppled and took Carol with him. After a tangle of clumsy and unresponsive limbs (on his part), he stood, retrieved his scotch bottle, or what was left of it, given that a damp stain was now bleeding itself into Carol's coat and quickly offered a hand which Carol ungraciously took so they could both rush out onto the platform. 

'Jesus. Fucking. Christ.' She muttered under her breath, rubbing the wet patch on her Burberry in vain, with the ridiculous notion that it might just vanish. 

'I'm so, so sorry,' the man slurred, in his desperate, yet whiney attempt to apologise. 'If there's anything I can do when I'm sober, please call this number.' He produced a card and thrust it towards her.

'It's fine.' She tried to dismiss his appeasement and hurried on with an exasperated sigh. 

At this point she comprehended he was making no attempt to catch up with his friends on the platform. 

 

He was now the one jogging, rather ridiculously to catch up with her. 

 

'Please let me do something, you look so dressed up, like you're going to meet someone. There must be a launderette or something that's still open.' He reached for her hand in a futile attempt to regain her attention. 

 

Carol was too quick and snatched it away, acutely aware that the guy was becoming louder and his friends had stopped, observing. 

 

She stopped, squaring up to him. Willing to let the coat incident go, - she could get another, and honestly, it wasn't like he could ever understand it's value anyway...

 

'Look.' She spoke forcefully, able to distill the alcohol causing rage within her with composition, 'Don't worry about the coat, it's not your fault. It was an accident. Please leave me alone now.' 

 

Sensing a confrontation, Carol was saved by a shout: 

 

 

'C'mon Richard leave the little lady alone.' To which he begrudgingly walked away and bounded up to his friends like an ignorant puppy. 

 

 

'...Or we could bring her with us' another one taunted, the dim lighting at the end of the platform a perfect façade for their cowardice. 

 

'Don't be stupid Jack, she's too old.' 

 

'So? She's still hot as fuck!'

 

Their voices were not subtle, there was no one else on the platform and Carol had no choice to approach them, she needed to get up the stairs. 

 

She was like a deer, caught in the headlights of their hungry eyes. 

 

* * *

> **02.15** **RYE NO.4**
> 
>  

Wishing for 4 O'Clock to roll around, Therese leant on the bar. She was exhausted, her charm was fading and her conscientiousness was leaving her. Who cares if a customer got their drink slower? She certainly didn't. Would it really make a difference as they were all so smashed anyway? 

 

She'd found a friend in Genevieve, the colleague she was on with, she found herself talking to her about most things, even Richard. She rather regretted telling her she could go at 12 now though, as she rather missed her company. It wasn't a big deal, all she had to do was close up at four, she'd done bar work before. After all, it would give Gen a rest before her shift tomorrow and her independence would impress the boss. 

 

A woman approached the counter and Therese was mesmerised, she confidently ordered a rye and Therese stuttered, feeling the  achievement of her transaction was comparable to climbing a mountain, the way she was feeling in the presence of this woman. She smiled demurely at Therese, and winked before sauntering over to join a group of friends.

 

Therese sighed, feeling as though she had just experienced a loss? What was that? Attraction? It was like a new disease that she had never even encountered before.

 

* * *

> **02.27** **RYE NO.5**
> 
>  

Still running Carol, paused and doubled over, taking a minute to get her breath back and clam down. The fog in her head was beginning to clear ever so slightly, she missed it's encompassing ignorant presence as she began to process the train. She looked round, relieved to be on a busy sidewalk and calmly looked for another bar, telling herself it would be the best plan, despite her inhibitions.

Captivated by the bottle green exterior of _Employees Only_ , she made a path towards the old-fashioned looking door. Dimly lit, she realised it wouldn't be very busy, people would probably be closing up soon, but Carol thought it looked warm, inviting

and safe. 

The parallels of the art deco ceilings directing her toward the bartender, Carol walked up, determined to feel the comforting embrace of a good rye once more, in France it was rare she'd be able to drink neat spirits, the functions nearly always requiring the host to advertise a new wine or boast a vintage bottle of Dom Perignon. Exhaling, she coughed, now ready to order a triple, feeling guilty for fostering an unfair impatience with the mixologist who was probably drained anyway. 

 

 

_Employee 645A  turned around._

 

 

Carol gripped the arm of her bar stool tighter as all frustration evaded her. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO, they finally met, in what has probably been the longest and most dragged out story ever. (#sorrynotsorry) <3


End file.
